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Authors: James Herbert
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the chaffinch didn’t hop back or fly away. It watched with bold interest.
Midge had breadcrumbs in her outstretched hand and she offered them to the bird, who eyed them with suspicion. I remained frozen, enjoying the scene. Midge placed the crumbs on the floor just inside the doorway, only inches away from the bird. The chaffinch cocked its head again and watched her, ignoring the food. Then it hopped to the very edge of the step and I felt sure it would venture inside. Not so, though; it skipped back again, gave one loud chirp that could have been a ‘goodbye’ and off it flew.
We both laughed as the bird swooped and glided around the garden before disappearing into the nearby woods, and I think that little episode made Midge’s day.
‘That’s it,’ I said good-humouredly as I went into the cottage. ‘Now they know we’re here they’ll be expecting a house-warming party.’
‘We’d make them welcome,’ replied Midge, her face flushed with joy.
Still grinning, I crossed the room and squatted down by the wall, running my fingers across the surface there, feeling for any dampness.
‘Looks like O’Malley and his crew did a good job,’ I remarked. ‘Did you get a chance to take a look at that crack in the wall upstairs?’
Midge was busy opening a cardboard box containing easy-fix food. ‘Yes,’ she answered, delving in. ‘You wouldn’t know it’d been there. The whole room’s been painted over so there are no marks at all. You hungry yet?’
‘Something light’ll do.’
‘Something light is all you’ll get. I’ll pop into the village tomorrow and stock up, but for now, pizza, burgers, or soup?’
‘Uh, soup. Let’s give it an hour or so, though, to get straight.’
‘Okay.’ She brought over the mug of tea she’d already made. ‘Water’s running clear, by the way.’
‘Yeah, I already checked.’ I stood and took the mug from her. ‘Seems like we’re set, doesn’t it?’ I guess by now my grin had turned a little sloppy. My free hand curled around the back of her neck.
Her eyes began to glisten with moisture and there was no need for her to reply, no need at all.
Later we relaxed on the old, rooted bench at the back of the cottage, watching the sun sink lower into the darkening woodland and dunking the last of our bread into mugfuls of hot soup. The evening was still warm and we were bathed in a soft glow, the white walls of Gramarye hued a pale pink. O’Malley’s men had worked expertly on those walls, scraping them clean and repairing, then giving them a couple of coats of cement-based masonry paint. We could hear the chatter of birds getting ready for bed, and occasionally the muted sound of a passing car drifted round the corner of the cottage from the road.
Most of the essential stuff had been unpacked: my music gear, still in cases or under covers, was in one of the attic rooms I intended to use for writing and taping; Midge’s art equipment and drawing board was in the round room, which would obviously be our living room, but in which she had decided she would also like to work. It was a sensible arrangement and one we were used to, her particular occupation being so unobtrusive anyway. I’d fixed up our bed next door to the freshly painted room, neither of us wanting to breathe in fumes while we slept; because the latter was slightly bigger, we’d move the bed in there when the smell of paint had faded. Framed paintings leaned in stacks against the walls, and ornaments stood in various groups around the place like friends sticking together in a strange environment; but chairs and tables and lamps and things were more or less positioned – refining could be done over the next few days. Big Val had rung earlier to make sure we’d settled in okay; fortunately she was never one to waste time on idle chit-chat, and the line was awful anyway, so Midge wasn’t on the phone for long. We’d decided to quit as soon as the sun was halfway down its lazy glide.
‘Tastes
Midge had breadcrumbs in her outstretched hand and she offered them to the bird, who eyed them with suspicion. I remained frozen, enjoying the scene. Midge placed the crumbs on the floor just inside the doorway, only inches away from the bird. The chaffinch cocked its head again and watched her, ignoring the food. Then it hopped to the very edge of the step and I felt sure it would venture inside. Not so, though; it skipped back again, gave one loud chirp that could have been a ‘goodbye’ and off it flew.
We both laughed as the bird swooped and glided around the garden before disappearing into the nearby woods, and I think that little episode made Midge’s day.
‘That’s it,’ I said good-humouredly as I went into the cottage. ‘Now they know we’re here they’ll be expecting a house-warming party.’
‘We’d make them welcome,’ replied Midge, her face flushed with joy.
Still grinning, I crossed the room and squatted down by the wall, running my fingers across the surface there, feeling for any dampness.
‘Looks like O’Malley and his crew did a good job,’ I remarked. ‘Did you get a chance to take a look at that crack in the wall upstairs?’
Midge was busy opening a cardboard box containing easy-fix food. ‘Yes,’ she answered, delving in. ‘You wouldn’t know it’d been there. The whole room’s been painted over so there are no marks at all. You hungry yet?’
‘Something light’ll do.’
‘Something light is all you’ll get. I’ll pop into the village tomorrow and stock up, but for now, pizza, burgers, or soup?’
‘Uh, soup. Let’s give it an hour or so, though, to get straight.’
‘Okay.’ She brought over the mug of tea she’d already made. ‘Water’s running clear, by the way.’
‘Yeah, I already checked.’ I stood and took the mug from her. ‘Seems like we’re set, doesn’t it?’ I guess by now my grin had turned a little sloppy. My free hand curled around the back of her neck.
Her eyes began to glisten with moisture and there was no need for her to reply, no need at all.
Later we relaxed on the old, rooted bench at the back of the cottage, watching the sun sink lower into the darkening woodland and dunking the last of our bread into mugfuls of hot soup. The evening was still warm and we were bathed in a soft glow, the white walls of Gramarye hued a pale pink. O’Malley’s men had worked expertly on those walls, scraping them clean and repairing, then giving them a couple of coats of cement-based masonry paint. We could hear the chatter of birds getting ready for bed, and occasionally the muted sound of a passing car drifted round the corner of the cottage from the road.
Most of the essential stuff had been unpacked: my music gear, still in cases or under covers, was in one of the attic rooms I intended to use for writing and taping; Midge’s art equipment and drawing board was in the round room, which would obviously be our living room, but in which she had decided she would also like to work. It was a sensible arrangement and one we were used to, her particular occupation being so unobtrusive anyway. I’d fixed up our bed next door to the freshly painted room, neither of us wanting to breathe in fumes while we slept; because the latter was slightly bigger, we’d move the bed in there when the smell of paint had faded. Framed paintings leaned in stacks against the walls, and ornaments stood in various groups around the place like friends sticking together in a strange environment; but chairs and tables and lamps and things were more or less positioned – refining could be done over the next few days. Big Val had rung earlier to make sure we’d settled in okay; fortunately she was never one to waste time on idle chit-chat, and the line was awful anyway, so Midge wasn’t on the phone for long. We’d decided to quit as soon as the sun was halfway down its lazy glide.
‘Tastes
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